the
remainder of her life.

About eight o'clock, his wife called him to the telephone. The Laird
was on the wire.

"In the matter of the indiscreet young lady in the store, Andrew," he
ordered, "do not dismiss her or reprimand her. The least said in such
cases is soonest mended."

"Very well, sir."

"Good-night, Andrew."

"Good-night, sir."

"Poor man!" Daney sighed, as he hung up. "He's thought of nothing
else since he heard about it; it's a canker in his heart. I wish I
dared indicate to Donald the fact that he's being talked about--and
watched--by the idle and curious, in order that he may bear himself
accordingly. He'd probably misunderstand my motives however."

IX

During the week, Mary Daney refrained from broaching the subject of
that uncomfortable Sunday afternoon, wherefore her husband realized
she was thinking considerably about it and, as a result, was not
altogether happy. Had he suspected, however, the trend her thoughts
were taking, he would have been greatly perturbed. Momentous thoughts
rarely racked Mrs. Daney's placid and somewhat bovine brain, but once
she became possessed with the notion that Nan Brent was the only human
being possessed of undoubted power to create or suppress a scandal
which some queer feminine intuition warned her impended, the more
firmly did she become convinced that it was her Christian duty to call
upon Nan Brent and strive to present the situation in a common-sense
light to that erring young Woman.

Having at length attained to this resolution, a subtle peace settled
over Mrs. Daney, the result, doubtless, of a consciousness of virtue
regained, since she was about to right a wrong to which she had so
thoughtlessly been a party. Her decision had almost been reached when
her husband, coming home for luncheon at noon on Saturday, voiced the
apprehension which had harassed him during the week.

"Donald will be home from the woods to-night," he announced, in
troubled tones. "I do hope he'll not permit that big heart of his to
lead him into further kindnesses that will be misunderstood by
certain people in case they hear of them. I have never known a man so
proud and fond of a son as The Laird is of Donald."

"Nonsense!" his wife replied complacently. "The Laird has forgotten
all about it."

"Perhaps. Nevertheless, he will watch his son, and if, by any chance,
the boy should visit the Sawdust Pile--"

"Then it will be time enough to worry about him, Andrew.